Red and the Rat
by Arienrod
Summary: Syd and Sark misbehaving
1. Relief

Red and the Rat  
  
"Well I certainly hope Mr. Sloane hasn't changed the code."  
  
Sydney paused the moment on tape, watching the all too familiar smirk descend on Sark's features. Arms crossed, head held high, he once again reminded her of ever schoolboy jock she'd ever met. His Aryan features coiled expressively, ranging from bored to haughty, as if he didn't fear death, didn't fear the glowering hatred of the man behind the glass. He'd been right, his extraction had been clean and swift. So fast in fact that Jack Bristow barely had time to register the all to familiar scenario before Sark had gone, disappeared into the dusty underworld from whence he'd come. She rewound the video surveillance detailing Kendall's visit and leaned back into her new leather couch, sighing. Spread at her feet were mounds of paperwork, reports written by analysts on the mysterious Mr. Sark, his every exploit and every quirk.  
It had been almost a week since the longest debrief of her life, culminating in the shock of the entire agency at her return, with two years lost in the span. Weiss was the first to grab her in a bear-hug, willing to accept without questions a gift from god or perhaps a gift from chance. Dixon had been next; overcoming his initial surprise, he cried openly into her shoulder. And Marshall, well Marshall had been ecstatic, running from his desk to her side in a frenzy of activity.  
But Vaughn. Vaughn's reaction had been subdued, if you could call it a reaction. After all, he had already met her at the safehouse, and even then he had barely touched her. Spoken to her. If anything he looked ashamed. Ashamed, the word was curious. What could Vaughn possibly be ashamed off? Pain, yes, that would have made sense. But shame?  
The others pitied her. With pity came the ridiculous tiptoeing. Her father, Will especially, and surprisingly, even Kendall. It was obvious he didn't think she was fit for active field duty. That was alright, even Sydney didn't think herself fit for field duty. After all, you don't just lose two years in the blink of an eye without some lingering effects. If the frequent visits to Barnett didn't convince her Kendall was treating her like tempered glass, then the Sark assignment certainly did.  
  
Which brought her to the task at hand. Why they needed a psychological and chronological profile of Sark was beyond her. Maybe Kendall thought Sloane was grooming him as heir apparent, or perhaps the lingering ghost of Irina Derevko urged the Agency to overanalyze her operatives. Either way, Syd saw it as an exercise in futility, but an exercise nonetheless. The way they'd been looking at her lately, she was glad they even fed her busy work, rather then having her shipped directly to a mental hospital. Besides, in no other line of work was the day filled with lounging around in pjs flipping through glossy pictures of a twenty- something pretty boy.  
  
"Mr. Sark, just who are you?" She mused aloud. Besides a cocky bastard with a penchant for torture that is. Idly, Sydney toyed with a picture of Sark flanked by two Armani suits, squinting into the sun and looking all the while a petulant boy who'd been denied a treat, verging on a tantrum. For a second she pictured an infantile Sark, complete with silk ties and that telltale smirk. At first the image provoked a small smile, but the smile tugged to a grin and soon Syd found herself in the midst of laughter, herself vacillating between tears of amusement and tears of pure abandon.  
For a moment, she was brought to the brink. And she was surprised at forcefully her own heart wanted to go over the edge. But that nagging question which kept reappearing brought her short. Go where? That was the question wasn't it? Where was she going?  
It had been unnerving, when, in the middle of a Barnett session, the perceptive blond woman had parroted Sydney's own thoughts. "So what now?" It had all the appearances of a simple question. After all, Kendall, Barnett, her father, they all expected the Sydney they knew to be hell bent on finding out the whys. Why she'd been abducted. Why she'd been left in the back of an ally, now of all times.  
But the only why she really seemed to turn back to, was, why the hell should she care? Oh sure, the first few days remnants of a past life had driven her to pepper Kendall with questions, threw her at her father demanding field assignment with a vengeance compensating for loss. Loss of what.Vaughn? No, something else.  
It was on day 5 that Sydney realized she was only going through the motions. Her attempts at reinsertion into the field had been half-hearted at best. A soothing bath in Will's gurgling outdoor hot tub had brought the disturbing notion to the forefront of her thoughts.  
She didn't want to know. She didn't want to hunt down the perpetrators. She simply wanted to move on. And the missing years? The Sydney everyone knew wouldn't have let such an atrocity rest.  
Was she still that Sydney?  
  
All signs pointed to no. The scariest part? She was glad. The Sydney of yesterday had been caught up in a tangle of emotions, twists at every turn. That Sydney lead a life so wrought with turmoil and distress that it was alarming to think that she had ever been willing to face the day. But more than anything, that Sydney had taken herself a little too seriously.  
"Methinks the lady doth dabble in histrionics." Syd muttered under her breath as she once again brought her favorite Sark picture up to the top of the pile. The ever present suit lacked a tie this time, and the sheen of his off-black shirt bespoke silk. Black on black. Silk on silk. He even managed to wear different shades of black well. Her first assessment still held, Sark exuded arrogance. But here, here he exuded something else. Maybe it was the lost expression on his face, revealing a sincerity Sydney had long disavowed from Mr. Sark. Maybe it was the incongruence of a Toys 'R' Us bag gripped tightly in his hand that cut years from his own age. The thought of Sark with children rang bells of immediate alarm. What ever the reason though, Sydney found herself staring at the glossy eight by ten and reminding herself that he was the enemy.  
  
Still, it was too bad he was evil. Those lips did look ever so inviting.  
  
Jack Bristow really needed to get laid.  
  
Now where did that thought come from? It was not, and would never be, any of her business whether her father was being "entertained" behind the scenes. But now, listening to yet another one of his never-ending spiels on some set of files and the devil otherwise known as Sloane, Sydney felt she had finally put a finger on what made Jack Bristow twitch.  
  
He obviously wasn't getting laid.  
  
"Sydney, are you even listening?" Her father demanded, a look of irritation crossing his already dark features. "These files are of the utmost importance. They may lead to the location and capture of Sloane. Moreover, they may contain clues of your whereabouts for the last two years."  
  
Yep. He definitely needed to get laid.  
  
"We've received intel that Sloane will be traveling by train with the files to Paris tomorrow night. It seems that Irina's double cross has made him more than a little bit cautious about who does his transportation." Jack Bristow emphasized the word cautious with a little bit of venom and quite a lot of satisfaction.  
It had come as a surprise, but not a shock (after seeing Vaughn's wedding ring, nothing could suitably shock Sydney it seemed) that "The Man" had sacrificed her entire enterprise in a final act of motherly rage. Apparently, Irina held Sloane directed responsible, though his involvement had never been substantiated, for Syd's supposed demise. Irina did not need such petty things as proof to act. A year to the day after Syd's disappearance, in a tremendous display of destructive power, taking, among others, the Rambaldi device Sloane had so meticulously built together, Irina's message had come loud and clear. Mess with my daughter, mess with me.  
And then she'd disappeared.  
Sloane had been more than a little peeved. Though, he had plenty of time to consider his mistakes when the CIA received Irina's parting gift, Sloane wrapped in a nice shiny bow, delivered on a silver platter, naked. The last part her father had coughed around, but had sent Sydney into paroxysms of laughter.  
From what Sydney had gathered, Weiss was the one who initiated the two day celebration. The only sour note had been Sloane's escape from custody, but for 48 hours the bastard had sat in isolation, waiting pending assignment to Camp Harris. How he managed his own extraction, with his operation shattered by Irina's vengeance, even Jack couldn't comprehend. Bygones.  
  
"Now, you'll travel with Agent Vaughn," his face blanched a bit at the name but he continued. "Review your identities carefully, if anyone tips Sloane off we may never get so close to him or his valuables ever again. Who knows what else he's going to have stored on that train. It is imperative that we catch him now, while he's still vulnerable. Sydney."  
"Sydney."  
Vaguely aware that her father was still speaking, she put on her best little girl smile and reached up to pat him unceremoniously on the head. "Dad, don't worry. Chill. I've got this."  
  
". and I was so glad we got you back that I made you these glasses. Bear with me, I know they're a little over the top, but man do these babies scream swank. I think they'll make you look like Grace Kelly. Now Weiss, he always used the Marilyn Monroe as a brunette reference, but I didn't see it as much. Not that you couldn't do Marilyn, I'm sure you could do Marilyn, with the dress and the wig and the - do you want me to make you a blond wig? Because your dad specified redhead, but I could easily whip up- "  
"Marshall, it's alright." Sydney watched in amusement as he all but burst before her with happiness. The ring on his finger was more than a little conspicuous, but that might be due to the fact that his hands were forever busy, bringing forth gadget after gadget of his own creation. Marshall. Good old Marshall, even matrimony couldn't change him. It was nice to know that some things in the world existed as constants.  
  
As she turned to leave, she felt Marshall's hand on her elbow.  
  
"Syd, one last thing." His face, once bright and happy turned to sadness. It was all he could do to address her again. "I have this for you."  
In his hand lay a single gold ring, identical to the one Vaughn wore. For a moment confusion reigned.  
"It's just that, you and Vaughn, your identities, well you're supposed to be- " He paused awkwardly. "And he already, what I mean is, they told me to make for you- "  
"Marshall." Sydney gave him a compassionate smile. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, his pity for her a physical entity at that moment. His heart was too big for his body. "It's alright."  
Her smile was genuine and somehow, despite the pain she felt she ought to have indulged in, it was alright. Because there was no pain, only a brief, lingering sadness overwhelmed by another sensation. Relief. 


	2. A New Game

If anything it only irritated her more. No amount of kindness or pity or even sympathy was going to resurrect a love long dead and buried (dead and buried by his own hand she might add), but he persisted. Somewhere in his heart, Vaughn was torn by his past and his present. Because of that, he managed to be all over the map, at once hot and cold, distancing himself from her while at the same time cautiously rekindling the friendship which had never existed in the first place. To him, they were back to that game of concealed flirtation, filled with shame and betrayal, that had characterized the demise of his relationship with Alice. But this time it was different. Sydney's adversary was not a girlfriend that could be easily shed, but rather a wife, an attachment so permanent that he felt it necessary to bind himself with gold. The game, once full of sexual tension and anticipation was now nothing but old. Stale.  
So Sydney sent a silent prayer upwards that he would just shut up and leave her in peace. Ironically, she wondered if he'd been this annoying when she was the one sleeping with him. Someone above must have heard, because his next words were tinged with worry and concern.  
"Syd, are you alright?" He leaned across the suitcases he'd originally set between them, as if constructing a barrier the minute they'd settled at their seats. Abruptly, he stopped and drew back the hand he had instinctively held out, as if met by an invisible wall.  
"Agent Vaughn, I think I just need a little bit of quiet."  
Stunned by the harshness she'd let slip into her tired voice, Vaughn's forehead wrinkled into a hurt expression. Indignation rose in Sydney's chest fast and furious. Hurt? He was hurt? When did he decide he'd have the fucking right to be the victim in this situation? With that, Sydney purposefully turned toward the window, leaning slightly, and settled down to a dreamless sleep. It would be a good two hours before they picked up Sloane in Paris, and she'd be damned before she spent it reminiscing with Vaughn.  
  
"Agent Bristow." The voice was hesitant, trying out a new designation with the uncertainty of a child. There was still a marked amount of hurt thrown in for decent measure as well. Syd rolled her eyes behind the lids, when the hell did he become such a baby? "We've just gotten out of Paris, it'll probably be best to grab him while we're crossing under the water. The conductor said only one man got on at the last stop."  
"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Realizing that she too sounded like a petulant child, Syd took the edge off her last remarks by smiling at him brightly. The smile was genuine, after all this was the first field mission Kendall had granted her, but the smile lacked love. She was smiling for the situation, not for Vaughn. It had taken a fair amount of guilting and prodding to convince both her father and Kendall that she deserved this mission, after all that she'd gone through. Interestingly, they'd been more reluctant to allow her alone with Vaughn than back into the field in general.  
  
Absently, she played with the gold ring sitting on her fourth finger, unaware that Vaughn too was staring at her choice of adornment. Unaware that is, until she met his longing glance. Again, irritation and indignation fought for dominance.  
"Syd-"  
Sydney leveled a gaze which could have burned through steel at Vaughn, daring him to say anything, anything at all. Caught off guard, he backed down, unsure of her recent change of heart.  
  
Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely. The train, engulfed in the darkness of the Chunnel, grinded to a halt. A few gasps, and muttered expletives traveled down the length of the passenger car, but most of the bored businessmen aboard chose to fall back asleep rather than panic. After a moment, the lights resurged but the train remained unmoving.  
Vaughn cast a wary eye in her direction and motioned to the backdoor which led to the freight cars. Wordlessly, Sydney followed him, her hand already at the gun hidden beneath her pink leather coat. A few quick searches brought them to the second to last car without hint or sign of Sloane, much less anything out of the ordinary. That is, except for the fact that each and every freight car they searched was utterly devoid of freight. In fact, each and every one had been stripped bare. Leaning against the door, Vaughn paused to catch his breath. Sydney watched with satisfaction as he huffed for a good solid minute. Their reprise however, was short-lived.  
The gunshot sounded once before the sounds of a violent struggle penetrated to their car. Without warning, the door flew open and two black clad men were unceremoniously thrown from within. Neither was alive. Vaughn cast one glance back at Sydney and slipped into the fray which was evidently still underway.  
The fight was short and brutal. Sydney counted 5 total, none of whom remotely resembled Sloane. As Vaughn tied together the last of the assailants, crisp applause broke through the air.  
"Well. Should I thank you, or has it become the business of the CIA to rescue old friends?"  
  
Sark. The situation was so unbelievable that Sydney's first reaction was to burst out laughing. But Vaughn beat her to the punch, quite literally. Without even registering surprise, Vaughn launched himself at the blond lounging in the door way of the final car. Sark dodged the punch easily, but allowed Vaughn to grab his collar and shove him against the wall. Sydney followed him, moving to stand close, eyes searching Sark's, questioning.  
"Sark, what the hell are you doing here? Where's Sloane?" The pure animosity in Vaughn's voice surprised Sydney, but didn't seem to register with Sark. Instead, crystal blue eyes darkened and flickered past Vaughn, past Sydney. She had the distinct impression that he was avoiding eye contact with her. "Well?"  
"Mr. Sloane was unable to make it, he did however send his regards via-" Sark nodded toward the men strewn amidst the empty car.  
"Where are the files?" Vaughn demanded, tightening his grip.  
"What files would that be?" Somehow, Sark managed to sound amused.  
"You know very well which files I mean." Silence followed. Vaughn it seemed, wasn't willing to take that as an answer. Quick as lightening, he drew his gun and slammed it against the side of Sark's forehead, drawing a thin trickle of blood along his eyebrow. "Don't fucking mess with me Sark, I might not have shot you last time, but I sure as well plan on doing it this time."  
"Agent Vaughn." Sydney's voice was mildly disapproving, more out of principal than out of any real worry. The scene was altogether too intriguing for her to break it up so soon. Something had obviously gone down between these two while she'd been missing.  
Vaughn ignored her, he stepped back and took aim between Sark's eyes. "Alright Sark, you wanna play? Fine, there's nothing keeping me from shooting you right now and dumping your body in the ocean as soon as we get on British soil."  
"Actually, I beg to differ." The conductor, frazzled and obviously more than a little afraid of the armed madman and the array of prone bodies, voiced his concern from the doorway. "We're currently unable to move, and if you could hold off on the homicides until we reach London, a new conductor will take my place and you can proceed on his watch."  
"Unable to move?"  
"An explosion ahead caused a section of rock to fall in, and it's blocking our path. It should be cleared shortly."  
"Goddammit." Vaughn glowered for half a second and slammed his gun into Sark's jaw again. Though Sydney didn't think Vaughn had threw his full weight into the blow, Sark went down like a sack of potatoes. A loud gasp was elicited from the conductor.  
"Agent Vaughn!" This time she was actually pissed. Vaughn was completely out of line. Sark had neither threatened nor provoked him. She moved quickly to step between the two, glaring. Purposefully, she turned her back to Vaughn and moved to help Sark up. As soon as he managed to stand, he pulled his hand from hers, as if she'd burned him. Curious.  
"Oh no, oh no, oh no." The little French conductor was moaning with anxiety in the corner, uncertain as to whether he was a witness to a crime or the next victim.  
"We're CIA," Sydney reassured the conductor, though it was partially for Vaughn's benefit. She had never seen him so feral before. It was as if he truly wanted to kill Sark. The conductor still seemed to doubt their legitimacy, but he'd loosened his death grip on the shovel he carried for protection.  
"Oh." He was utterly at a loss with these damn Americans.  
"Could you provide us a place to interrogate this man? He's a known terrorist."  
If those words startled the poor conductor, he managed to hide it. "The café car should be sufficient, it's been closed for some time and I don't believe anybody's there."  
It was with that, that the four proceeded through the passenger cars, an oddity that the passengers chose to ignore. Once they were settled in the soft leather chairs of the makeshift investigation room, the conductor conveniently slipped away, begging a need to contact the police.  
The train soon restarted, and the conductor seemed more than happy to stay away from the "investigation" going down. Sydney sat opposite Sark, fascinated by his ability to look past her eyes and stare at a point on the wall two feet behind her forehead. What exactly was he playing at?  
Vaughn paced back and forth next to the table, rage conveyed by his every step. "I know you have the files Sark, give them up and maybe, just maybe, someone besides me will find it in their heart to go easy on you. Because I'm warning you, you are quickly running out of time."  
He punctuated his threats with quick lunges at Sark, but refrained from openly attacking.  
Instead of answering him, Sark seemed to be concentrating on something else. His breathing was quickening, and his hands were braced on the table in front of him. His eyes still seemed to focus past Sydney, but now it seemed as if he was having trouble focusing at all.  
"Goddammit Sark." Vaughn raised his gun again, but before he could move, Sydney was on her feet and twisting the weapon out of his hands.  
"Control yourself Agent, what the hell do you think you're doing?"  
Surprise finally registered, and Vaughn stared at her as if for the first time. His eyes narrowed and all sense seemed to leave his brown pupils. With a disgusted snarl hardly resembling words, Vaughn stalked out of the café car.  
Peeved at Vaughn's out of character behavior, Sydney brooded for a minute without taking note of Sark. By the time she turned back to him, he was staring at her with an expression resembling abject terror. Before she could stop herself, she asked. "What?"  
"Nothing." He mumbled it, the swagger and arrogance so inborn in him vanishing without a trace. Again he took to staring at the spot on the wall past her head. His breathing, which Sydney had assumed had been caused by Vaughn's violent display, was as shallow as ever, and his knuckles began to slowly turn chalk white. Either he had a concussion and was about to pass out, or he was deathly afraid of her for some reason.  
The concussion notion seemed to fit better, so Sydney decided it was in her responsibility to at least keep the man alive for further questioning, if not for humanitarian reasons. She was not, however, prepared for Sark's reaction. Drawing a hand across his forehead to feel for the telltale bump, Sydney was more curious about the tension with which he stared at her. What was going on?  
But before she could explore further, the conductor reappeared. "We're here, the police notified some other agents waiting for you at the station, I think they're expecting you?"  
Sydney nodded curtly, and turned back to Sark. He had, in the meantime, passed out. 


	3. Good Will Ambassador

"What the hell is wrong with you Agent Vaughn?" If there was anyone in the world who recognized that tone of voice, it was Sydney. Her father, more than anyone, could convey a quiet, deadly anger with the softest of tones. And right now, his entire concentration was focused on Vaughn, with a voice modulated ominously below a whisper. It had been almost two hours since they'd landed in LA, Sark dragged into custody and Sydney left alone with her father and Vaughn. All the while, Jack had continued to grill Vaughn.  
Helpless, Vaughn shrinked under the tirade, not even daring to look to Sydney for help. Not that she would have given him any. It was too funny to watch him berated like a naughty two year old.  
"You left my daughter alone, with a known criminal, who, might I remind you, has shot and killed dozens of CIA agents? What exactly were you hoping to accomplish?" The questions, though rhetorical to some extent, were made even more threatening by the fact that Jack Bristow fully expected an answer to each. He was, to say the least, not happy.  
"He was unarmed."  
"Unarmed? Unarmed?" Vaughn's attempt at defending himself served only to provoke Jack more. It was a little bit like watching a tiger toy with an injured gazelle. "And when exactly did you learn this? Did you happen to strip-search the terrorist between pistol-whippings or have you all of a sudden become psychic in the past twenty four hours? The agents who brought Mr. Sark into custody, in fact found two knives on his person."  
Vaughn's head snapped up, looking with genuine worry and fear at Sydney. The fact that she was present attested to her survival, but Vaughn was not reassured in the least. She chose not to meet his eyes.  
"It was by miracle alone that he did not attack Sydney, and that is the only reason you stand before me rather than in a cell neighboring Mr. Sark. Do me a favor, on any further missions when you decide to loose all rationality, give me a call so that I may have the pleasure of turning you over to Kendall myself." With one last dark glare, Jack nodded to Sydney and the two left Vaughn alone in the empty operations room.  
  
"So wait, you have that little blond bitch in custody?" Will paused in shaking the can of whipped cream to allow an expression of incredulity to take over his face. It was comforting, moments like these that lightened her day, her and Will living together and making ice cream Sundays. It reminded her that there were at least a few people in the world who would take her back, no questions asked, and live the life she'd left behind. He, above all others, even her father, accepted her without question. He treated her not like the Sydney of yesterday, or the Sydney of now, and especially not like an unwanted phantom. No, he just treated her like his Sydney.  
"Yeah, I mean he didn't resist or fight back at all. But this isn't the first time we've had one of those three locked down. They're as slippery as fish." Sydney playfully stole a bite of Will's concoction, but wrinkled her nose when she tasted it. How someone managed to love peach sherbet mixed with butter pecan was beyond her.  
"As slippery as fish food?" Will chuckled at his own bad joke. "Here, try this, try this."  
"Ugh, Will, that's disgusting. What bothers me is how he was acting. Like he was afraid of something, or someone."  
"Are you kidding? He'd better be afraid. You know how many people want to kick his ass? I mean, I think the CIA actually has a waiting list. Besides, that rat bastard has it coming. He's got a beating with my name written all over it."  
"You sound just like Vaughn." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. It was the first time she had ventured the V-word with Will. Well. What of it? There was no use tip toeing around the fact forever.  
"Huh. I would think Vaughn of all people-" Will stopped, a guilty frown slowly appearing.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Nothing, Syd."  
"No, Will, come on. Vaughn of all people what? Don't start hiding things from me, not now."  
"Syd." He spoke haltingly, reaching out and tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I don't want to hide anything from you. Believe me, it's just, I don't think I'm the one who should be telling you all this. I barely know all the facts to begin with and you deserve to hear the whole story."  
Well. That made things more complicated. Her little game of speculation, sparked by Vaughn's outburst and Sark's odd behavior, was more serious than she'd previous predicted. Whatever was going on though, only one person could explain it to her, and it was the one person she couldn't deal with. Life was a bitch these days.  
  
Entering the facility which had held her mother for so long brought back memories, both pleasant and not so much. Security was, of course, heightened since Sloane's stay, but the cell remained unchained for the most part. Sydney's fingers played with her mother's earrings, twisting them back and forth. Nervous. Huh. Why was she nervous? Because of Sark? Geez, was what he had contagious or something? "Oh grow up Syd, what are you, some empty headed school girl?"  
"Sydney?" Apparently her father had heard her muttering.  
"Dad."  
"What are you doing here?"  
"Kendall said Sark requested you, so I thought I might listen in on whatever he has to say."  
"Sydney. Wait. Before you go in there, there's some things you need to know."  
  
The moment of truth. The only thing missing was a drum roll.  
"I - I was waiting to tell you. At a better time that is, or when we had more information. But now, with the recent events, your mother - her disappearance."  
Her mother? That came out of left field.  
"When circumstantial evidence surfaced that Sloane may have been behind your own disappearance. Well, her justice was brutal to say the least. She crumbled his operation from the inside out. But not without much risk to herself. Irina's actions were public, and in betraying Sloane she lost the loyalty of quite a few."  
"Dad, I know all this." Sydney felt a sudden impatience. Sark stood on the other side of the wall with quite a bit of information he finally felt like sharing and her father was bent on a trip down memory lane. Her mother's disappearance and likely death was not a welcome topic of discussion at a time like this.  
  
"No Sydney, you don't. Of the people who sided with Sloane - Sark was believed to be one of them. In fact, many people thought Sark was the one who orchestrated Sloane's escape from CIA custody. What you do not know, is that a few months after these events, your mother resurfaced . one last time."  
If anything, Sydney was more confused. The sides to the story was varied and everyone's allegiances kept shifting. This game of musical loyalties was beginning to wear thin. At some point, Sydney was just going to have to make name tags with "good" and "evil" labeled on them and start passing them out.  
"That day, much of Irina's plan was revealed. It appeared that she and Sark had been working together all along, with one ultimate goal."  
"Which was?"  
"Finding you."  
"Dad, this is all news to me, but I don't understand why you felt the need to come clean with it now of all times." A sudden realization hit her. "Why are you telling me this, and where does Vaughn fit in?"  
Not many things made Jack Bristow visibly uncomfortable, but his daughter's ability to see past what he was saying, her sudden insight, gave him cause for alarm. If he didn't know better, he'd assume she knew everything, all along. "Something else happened that day. Sloane had escaped, but with intel leaked to us by Irina and Sark, we were able to converge on his location. Agent Vaughn and I acted outside CIA regulation. In the chaos, Sloane escaped again. But this time, he had your mother."  
It didn't take long to see where he was going with it. Sloane may have made the mistake of trusting Irina Derevko once, but he wouldn't have made the same mistake twice. "He executed her."  
"We don't know Sydney. We don't know."  
"And Sark? Did he go crawling back to Sloane the moment she hit the ground?"  
"Again, something we just can't guess at. Some believe he was playing both sides against the middle."  
"And what do you believe?"  
" I wasn't there, that day. It's something I can't forgive myself for. All that your mother did, did not become clear, but Sydney. For once, her intentions, where centered on you. As for Sark, after Irina and Sloane disappeared, well he faded out of the picture. To tell you the truth, I'd all but forgotten about him. I do know one thing though, now that we have him, I'm not letting him out of my sight."  
  
Sydney lingered outside the holding facility, taking a moment to absorb all that her father had just told her. Oh sure, they'd told her almost immediately after she'd hit the States that her mother had "disappeared." The emphasis Kendall had placed on the words "gone" gave her a sense of finality. But the knowledge that Irina Derevko had faked her death so efficiently once buried a seed of hope inside her heart. Now she wasn't so sure.  
  
Sark began without delay. "I take it this isn't a social call? No? Well. There is a locker at Dulles National Airport, in the international terminal, 102, combination 5-21-18. Inside you will find a key, the key opens the storage space of apartment 14A, address 3868 West Beach Lane."  
"And?"  
"And what, Jack?" The smirk had returned.  
"And what exactly are we expecting to find behind door number one?" Sydney interrupted, appearing past the guards to stand alongside her father. Sark turned pale, but this time dredged up enough control to maintain his composure.  
Purposefully addressing Jack again, he answered. "Inside you will find the files Agent Vaughn so desperately sought, the ones containing Sloane's contacts, his hideouts, bank account numbers, and details of his entire operation. Included are disks monitoring his movements over the past six years, and explanation of how he managed to elude you last time he was captured as well as several plans laid out with detailed instructions on bypassing his security. The ultimate goal, I hope you realize, is the permanent detainment of Mr. Sloane."  
The emphasis of course, was on the word permanent. He even managed to make prison gear look hot.  
For a good five minutes Jack continued to stare at Sark, his expression unchanged. He seemed to be intent on staring into his soul. Sydney however, was bothered by another fact.  
"You said these disks contain information on Sloane's past 6 years?" It appeared she was going to find out about her extended absence after all, whether she willed it or not.  
Sark paused before answering, his eyes downcast. "Yes."  
"Have you seen these files?"  
"Yes."  
"And-" The words caught in her throat. It was an inquiry with infinite consequences. She herself, felt too conflicted to give voice to the question, but she alone was the one with the right.  
"No, Sydney." No, Sydney. No, Sydney what? No, I didn't find any evidence of your very existence in the last two years? No, Sloane had nothing to do with your abduction? No, I'm not going to tell you cause I'm a cocky son of a bitch? She was unsure whether to scream aloud or break down laughing. For the first time, brilliant blue eyes finally met hers. Sydney was surprised to see pain, sadness, but most of all anger, reflected in that glance. If anything, the odd assortment of unfamiliar emotions ranging over the face of someone she'd taken as devoid of such intrigued her.  
"You will address my daughter as Agent Bristow. And Sark? I don't buy it."  
In a split second, Sark's face clouded and the raw emotion was swept clean. Turning, with an haughtiness resurrected, Sark merely shrugged and lay facedown on his bare cotton cot. It appeared the conversation had been terminated.  
"It's a trap. It must be some sort of trap. Sloane found out that we were close and he threw this cocky bastard at us as a diversion. He must have gotten out of Paris through some other route while we were focusing on that train. If only I could figure out how he knew we were close." Jack brushed past Sydney without even seeing her. It was funny how invisible she was at times. Her loved ones had spent so much time and effort grieving Sydney Bristow, willing themselves to forget her to relieve the pain that unconsciously, some had indeed forgotten her.  
"Sark." If Sydney hadn't seen the tightening of his back, she would have assumed he was asleep. But she knew better than that, there was no way he was going to let himself fall asleep when she was still so clearly present. "Give me one good reason to believe you."  
He spoke without facing her.  
"I can't."  
"Then why are you doing this? Why betray Sloane?"  
"Call it a gesture of good will."  
"Good will? Good will from you?" Even Sydney had to snort at the absurdity of the notion.  
"No."  
"Then?" He was beginning to get frustrating and she was beginning to feel reckless.  
"Who understands a mother's love?" 


End file.
